Even in the Desert, Flowers Bloom
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Religious persecution has happened for years, but in no place as bad as the Order of the Assassins. When Desmond's curiosity stirs things up, it tests Shaun's faith to the limit.
1. Chapter 1

**Gaaaaaaaah... this is one beast of a story, and with the Pit being a douche, it's even worse. D: **

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><p>He couldn't help but feel at home in the church. His mother was overtly religious, and, although he lived for conspiracy theories, his mother had done well to instill in him her faith. And so, he sat in the sanctuary of the Santa Maria Aracoeli, his crucifix in hand. The beads were well worn with time, small grooves worn into the wood where his fingers had run through the prayers so many times before.<p>

He wasn't Catholic, no, not anymore—not after becoming part of the assassins—but he did still cling to the last little bit of Christian faith he had. He knew it was pointless, and if the others found out, they'd call him a Templar, but he couldn't help it. After being kidnapped right after graduation from the university, he clung to what little hope his faith could instill him with.

With stiff legs, he walked to the railings at the edge of the altar and knelt. The pillows for kneeling were still full of stuffing, and even though he shouldn't be here—because it was a tourist sight, and Heaven forbid someone should see him—he gripped his mother's crucifix, his graduation present, and bowed his head to pray. His fingers ran over the wooden beads, and he prayed that his mother was still doing okay, that his brother's wife and child were strong and healthy, and that his father was resting in peace. He found himself rambling, talking with God and trying to cheer himself up after Desmond got Lucy. He thanked God for how well Lucy was healing, how Desmond was still sane, and how, since they had teamed up with William's group, he was sleeping more and getting healthier.

"My child, what are you doing here?"

Shaun nearly had a heart attack as he looked up to see a priest standing there, clutching a cane. He was old and wrinkled and looked as if he belonged there, the stand-in father for so many children who passed through the doors every day.

"The church is shut down."

Shaun bowed his head, running his fingers over the beads. "I'm sorry, father."

"There is no need to be sorry for praying to our Father." He could hear the priest walk over to him and kneel down beside him. "What is bothering you, child?"

He looked at the priest and opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again when words wouldn't come. The man seemed to understand and took his hand gently, folding their fingers together.

"Dear Lord our Father," the priest began.

Shaun closed his eyes and listened as the priest prayed for him and his situation. He listened to the old man's voice, and deep inside, he felt as if his worry and pain were being soothed. He clutched his hand tighter and felt a soft squeeze in response, and by the end of the prayer, Shaun was crying. The priest pulled him into a hug as the historian cried, and he started sobbing harder. The sobs echoed throughout the basilica and into the heart of the dark church. He clutched the man's robes tightly until there were no more tears in his system.

"I want to see my mum again," he whispered. "Sod this for a game of soldiers: I want to go back to the way things were before all of this. I love my job, don't get me wrong, but I want my old life back."

The priest was gently rubbing his back. "All things happen for a reason. God must have placed you here for an important one."

Shaun listened to the man's heartbeat. "I just want to see my family again."

"Keep faith, child. It may be a while yet, but your reason for being placed in such a position will be revealed in due time."

"Don't tell me you believe that shit. What the Hell are you doing out here anyway?"

Shaun turned to see Desmond standing a few feet away, and he scowled. "Go away, you useless gnat. Surely you have some more brain cells to kill by letting Lucy beat you around some more."

Desmond scowled. "Come on."

The old man gave Shaun a tight squeeze. "A few more minutes—"

"No, damnit. Come on, Shaun."

"Pull the fuzz from your ears, idiot. I'm not coming in yet." H

e watched Desmond snarl and plop down in one of the chairs. "I'm not allowed to return until you come with."

"Then sit and shut up," Shaun snarled in return.

Shaun closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against the priest's chest. There were several minutes of silence before his fingers curled into the robes even tighter.

"I don't want to go back, father. I don't want to."

The old man chuckled. "You will find your purpose in due time."

"I'm not even appreciated. I give myself one-hundred and ten percent of the time, and they only expect more as if I were super human."

"Sometimes, the underappreciated have the most important jobs. Here, rise with me." Shaun let go and stood with the priest, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders and made a sweeping gesture.

"Take, for instance, the care and maintenance that goes into this sacred place."

They started walking to the middle of basilica slowly.

"Every day, the janitors come and clean the floors, straighten the chairs, and dust the altar. They wax the floors every Sunday night and take out the trash for the garbage men. The garbage men pick up the waste and carry it to the dump, and they do this every day. Yet, these men and women are forgotten. They receive no praise: they get no recognition. Still, they do their jobs.

"The artists that created these walls have long since died and been washed away in the ever-changing tide of time. Nevertheless, thousands of people come in and pray, noticing the beautiful work but never acknowledging it. These are the people that run our society: the small, the unnoticed, the hardworking. Without them, we would not have such a wonderful world.

"You may feel as if you are underappreciated, but your work is necessary. Do with pride, Shaun, and praise the Lord our God for such a gift. You may not have seen your family in a long time, but surely there is someone who has needed the work you have done. Or will need. Just as we need the janitors and the artists, your job is important."

They had arrived back at the altar.

"The Father has blessed you, child. There is a reason for what you are doing."

Shaun looked the man in the eyes.

"It may not be apparent for years, but I can tell that your faith has been tested quite heavily."

The priest cupped his cheek and kissed his head.

"The Lord is with you, Shaun. Remember that. He watches over his children like a shepherd. Tell me, do you own a Bible?"

"No, sir, it was burned by the people I work with."

The priest frowned and patted his shoulder. "Then hold on, I shall be back."

Shaun watched the man walk off, his back turned to Desmond. Once the priest was gone, he could hear Desmond shift.

"I knew we couldn't trust you, fucking Templar bastard."

Shaun, for once, didn't have the strength to respond.

"What, don't have a response now that you've been caught? Wait till the heads of the Order hear about this."

Shaun closed his eyes. He felt empty, but it was a relief from all the anger and frustration that had been building for so long. "Then kill me."

There was silence. Then, "What?"

Shaun turned and gave him a tired, empty look. "Then kill me, you prejudice son-of-a-bitch. Anything could be better than this shithole of a life."

Desmond looked surprised as Shaun turned back around and closed his eyes. "

You know, my dream as a child was to grow up, get married, and have a litter of kids? Now, I can't even go outside, let alone begin to date someone. Kill me. I won't struggle. Here, let me help you."

He pulled off his sweater vest and began undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"At least then I can see my father again."

He pulled his shirt back and turned so Desmond could see his chest, and he looked him in the eye as he held his shirt open.

"Well?"

Desmond seemed frozen to his seat. Shaun gestured again and waited.

"Are you going to kill me since I'm a Templar?"

Desmond was just silent, beginning to look uncomfortable.

"I believe in Christ as my savior and the one, true God. Therefore, I must be a threat to the Order and a Templar, and I must die. Please, bury your blade in my chest. I don't mind: it's not as if anyone will notice."

"Shaun…"

"Come on, you pansy. Finished what you started with Lucy, and kill me."

"I didn't hurt her on purpose! I couldn't control myself!"

Shaun gestured to his exposed chest. "Okay then, don't hold back here, either."

He gave a nonchalant shrug and looked at the newer assassin. "Well?"

Desmond shifted, looking uncomfortable. "I…"

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about doing this."

"Shaun, I…"

He waited patiently. While he hated how stressed and overworked he had been, now that he had a partner to help with archiving, he now had time to think, and he knew it was dangerous. While he had been busy, he hadn't the time to miss his family or think about them—it was only "Do this," or "Help them." Now that he could think, he was beginning to struggle with depression as he thought about all the stuff that had happened. It's easy to be cynical and sarcastic when the underlying cause is depression.

He was staring at Desmond, who was squirming under his gaze. He watched the assassin without much interest, their breathing the only noises in the room. Finally, Desmond sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry. Just button up your shirt. I'm not going to kill you."

"Are you sure? Honest, I wouldn't mind. And I'm sure they could find another to replace me easily."

Desmond scowled at him. "I'm not gonna kill you."

"But since I'm a Christian, I must be a Templar, and therefore, I am a danger to society and all the assassins around me. Because I am a danger, I cannot be trusted and must be a spy, and the Order kills Templar spies because it puts their fight in danger. So, by the power of reasoning, I must die to protect the Order. I won't fight you."

"What the Hell is wrong with you?"

Shaun sighed and looked toward the Heavens, silently thanking God he felt so devoid of emotion right now. He looked back at him. "It's called 'depression,' Desmond. Many people suffer from it, and given what has been happening in my life right now, I'm not entirely surprised I'm suffering from it, too."

"Oh, come on, if I can do it—"

"You were born and raised to be an assassin. Compare that to me, and you're comparing apples to pigs. There's no similarities."

Desmond opened his mouth to speak but shut it. Then, as Shaun stuffed his hands into his pockets, he spoke.

"If life is so bad, why do you still believe in God, then, after he's done all this shit to you?"

"Because he has blessed me many times, and saved me countless more."

"Yeah… sure…. You're blessed even though you're depressed, stuck in a job where you aren't recognized, are hunted obsessively, and have had to give up on your dream."

He smiled bitterly. "Hope is all I have left, Desmond. It is the only thing that has kept me from committing suicide. And as long as I have faith in God, I will have hope."

"Why?"

"Why? Why what?"

"Why do you keep hope, then, if everything looks so bad?"

"It is the curse of humanity to hope for a better life."

"Isaiah fifty-eight, eleven," they turned to see the priest holding a book. "'The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and strengthen your frame.'"

Shaun buttoned his shirt again and folded his sweater vest as the priest approached him, kneeling on one knee and holding out the Bible.

"Keep your faith, Shaun. For just as faith brought Job vast prosperity, so too, shall the Lord reward your faith. Read Psalm forty-two and forty-three. I hope that they will help you."

Shaun nodded once, slowly, and reached out to take the book. He gave the priest one more tight hug, thanking him, and turned to Desmond, tucking the Bible away.

"Ready?"

Desmond looked nervous, but nodded. As they left, Shaun took one more look at the priest, who was watching them with a sad hopefulness.

"Remember, child, there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. God bless."

Shaun felt the beginning of a smile tug at his lips as he clutched the Bible tighter under his shirt. Desmond was quiet on the way back, and Shaun's mind sifted through the night at the church. He felt better after his breakdown, and the cool night air was refreshing. As they entered their hideout, he paid the others no mind and went straight to his room, changing into pajamas and settling in his bed.

He was engrossed in the Bible, a certain feeling of nostalgia filling his soul. He felt closer to home, and he could hear his mother reading passages to him. It wasn't until he felt his bed dip that he jumped from his thoughts, hoping it wasn't Lucy or someone else. When he saw Desmond, he allowed himself to relax a little, and scowled.

"What do you want, you insufferable git?"

Desmond frowned and looked almost nervous as he shifted on the edge of the bed. Shaun knew that look: it was the one he always had before he asked a question.

"Why do you keep your faith?"

Shaun sighed, pulling his glasses off and closing the book. "Didn't we already have this discussion?"

Desmond looked at the far wall. "Well, yeah, but it was kinda—it didn't make much sense."

"Of course it didn't. Nothing ever does for you."

Desmond frowned. "Look, I'm just curious, okay? I mean, yeah, I saw your point that maybe every Christian isn't a Templar, but I wanna know why you believe if you've seen how corrupt it is and heard the speculation that the Pieces of Eden are what caused all the 'miracles.'"

Shaun sighed and straightened, adjusting the pillows against the wall. He licked his lips and rubbed his chin. "It's hard to explain. And perhaps it's all just a frame of mind, but having such a belief is helpful."

"Really?"

He moved so Desmond could sit on the bed and face him. Shaun sighed and bit his lip, trying to decide how to proceed.

"Yes."

He made an irritated noise and looked at the ceiling as if it were holding the answer. Desmond was looking at him expectantly, and Shaun scratched his chin.

"It would be easier just to show you, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd have to believe as well. It gives you—it gives you a certain, inexplicable calm when you're frightened, or courage when you need to fight. There's an unequaled happiness I get in singing hymns or reading the Bible. The only way to understand is to believe."

Desmond's face twisted into one of contemplation. Shaun was getting irritated as he tried to figure out a good enough explanation for him.

"Aren't you gay, though?"

Shaun raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't that illegal according to the Bible?"

Shaun looked away, staring at the far wall.

"Well, yes."

"So then…"

Shaun sighed. "There is a reason I never made it past second base with Kate."

"So, you're never going to have a relationship with another guy?"

"I may, but don't doubt I won't feel guilty."

Desmond looked confused. "Then why would you…"

"Because all men enjoy feeling loved."

Desmond was quiet, the look of confusion getting worse. Shaun watched him closely. They were silent for several minutes before Desmond spoke again.

"If… If I gave it a try, would you…"

Shaun gave him a look, raising an eyebrow.

"Try what? A gay relationship?"

"Um… Believing in God. Would you help me?"

Shaun chuckled. "Of course."

Desmond looked shocked. "Really?"

He nodded. "It would be irresponsible of me as a Christian not to, like a farmer planting his seeds but not taking care of them."

Desmond nodded slowly. "When will I feel it? I mean, those feelings you described?"

Shaun let a small smile slip. "You'll know, Desmond. You'll feel him within you."

Desmond looked horrified. "Like, the Bleeding Effect?"

Shaun laughed. "No, no. Nothing of the sort. It's pleasant. You'll just know."

Desmond looked doubtful, but Shaun set the Bible to the side and reached for Desmond's hands. The newer assassin jerked at the contact, but let Shaun fold their hands together.

"There are certain things you must accept if you want to become a Christian. You must acknowledge that you are a sinner and that you need God's forgiveness."

"What kind of sinner?"

"There are Ten Commandments that we should live by: we shall have no other gods before him; we shall not make ourselves an idol and bow to it; we shall not use the Lord's name in vain; we shall remember the Sabbath and keep it holy—"

"The Sabbath?"

"Sunday. The day of rest."

"Oh…"

"We shall honor our mother and father. We shall not murder, commit adultery, steal, lie, or be jealous."

"Shit, that goes against everything the assassins are."

Shaun nodded. "Yes."

"And he'll forgive you despite this?"

"He's not going to be very happy, but he will forgive you if you are truly sorry."

Desmond blinked several times, looking down at their hands. Shaun waited patiently, letting Desmond process the information.

"Is that why—is that why you try so hard to get out of assignments?"

A smirk tugged at Shaun's lips. "Yes, Desmond. Spot-on."

Desmond nodded once, slowly, still staring at their hands. He swallowed loudly. "What else do we need to accept?"

"You believe that God raised Jesus from the dead, and that Jesus died for our sins so that we may not need to offer a sacrifice at the temples anymore."

"But the Shroud is what—"

"Through God's power, Jesus was brought back to life."

Desmond's jaw audibly snapped shut, and he nodded.

"You must believe that Jesus is the Lord, and that through him alone you will find salvation."

"But you just said we can't have any other gods."

"God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are three parts of one."

Desmond growled, frustrated. "How?"

"They just are."

"There's no explanation?"

"None. My apologies."

Desmond was quiet, still thinking and looking at their hands.

"Anything else?"

"Ask the Lord into your heart, and receive him as your savior."

"How do I ask him?"

"Through prayer, the base of communication with God."

"And how to I pray?"

Shaun smiled softly. "There was a devotional my mother helped me through as a young tike that told me how. Remember the phrase 'ACTS': Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication."

"Okay?"

"Adoration: tell him how much you love him and praise him. Even he enjoys it. Confession: confess your sins, and ask him for forgiveness. Thanksgiving: count your blessings and thank him. You'll find you have more than you expected. Supplication: this is the most important part."

Desmond nodded, looking remarkably serious.

"Just talk to him."

Desmond looked confused.

"Like you would to a best friend."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Desmond blinked.

"Care to try? I'll start us out."

After several long seconds of silence, Desmond nodded, and Shaun bowed his head and began his prayer. He went slow, and as he relaxed while praying in front of Desmond, his tongue loosened, and he began talking as if God were his best friend. Once he was done, he guided Desmond through a prayer. Desmond faltered along, slowly becoming comfortable with what he was doing, and Shaun couldn't help but feel good about it. When he closed with an "Amen" and settled into the bed, he waited for a barrage of questions. He was surprised by Desmond's serious stare and lack of words. He met his gaze levelly.


	2. Chapter 2

"Who was that guy the priest mentioned earlier? Something about working?"

Shaun furrowed his brow. "Job? With a long 'o'?"

Desmond chuckled quietly.

"It's a story in the Bible about a man who suffered greatly."

Desmond pursed his lips.

"Come here, and I'll read part of it to you."

The assassin looked thoroughly shocked. "Really?"

"I know you hate reading."

Hesitantly, Desmond crawled beside Shaun as Shaun put his glasses back on and picked up the Bible, opening to the chapter. As he started reading the book of Job, he felt, in that instant, as if he were his mother, and Desmond, him. An overwhelming feeling of nostalgia washed over him, and he ended up falling asleep with his head resting against Shaun's stomach, curled next to him. Shaun watched him sleep for several minutes before marking the page and taking off his glasses, setting them next to his pillow and turning out the light. As he settled down, he pulled Desmond close, feeling an indescribable warmth bloom in his chest.

The next day went by slowly, and as Desmond went under in the Animus, Shaun couldn't help but watch and contemplate if the newer assassin was serious about last night or not. It wasn't as if he could just ask: there were too many ears during the daylight that could overhear, and that could end in disaster for him if someone found out—or even worse, death. He had struggled enough with death since he had been taken from Kate.

His typing slowed as his thoughts went back to the woman he had dated before the kidnapping. She had been the light of his life, and she had only reinforced his faith. What he lacked, she made up for, and even though he lusted after men, he had fallen "head over heels" in love with Kate. He spoiled her with chocolate and walked with her in the park. They would talk about the men that ran through, ogling over the ripped ones that ran shirtless. She was perfect—despite Rebecca humiliating him by announcing they had never made it past second base. She just didn't know the circumstances.

With a sigh, he picked up his typing again and stared at the screen, wondering if Desmond was actually interested or if he was just curious. He realized he was falling behind and mentally kicked himself, forcing himself to become engrossed in his work. It wasn't until he felt someone smack him in the shoulder that he stopped working.

"Hey, take a break. Eat."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Hello to you, too, Sleeping Beauty."

Desmond raised an eyebrow, and Shaun sighed. "Right, note to self: show the illiterate sod Disney."

"I can read!"

"Being illiterate can also mean that you are not familiar with literature of any sort. It doesn't mean necessarily that you cannot read, despite modern influence of the word."

Desmond frowned and pulled up William's chair, gesturing to the bowl of chicken noodle soup on his desk. "Eat, asshole."

Shaun scoffed and looked at the bowl. It did look appetizing. Desmond twirled around in William's chair, grinning like a shit. After the chair's height was totally changed, he stopped and stared at Shaun, who had moved the bowl closer but remained untouched as he worked.

"Um…"

"What do you need, Desmond? I'm terribly behind."

"I had some questions about last night."

Shaun froze. His fingers were poised above the keys.

"I mean, if you're still willing to help me."

He straightened and looked over his shoulder at Desmond, who was fidgeting in the chair. The man was looking everywhere but at the historian, and Shaun slowly spun around, leaning back.

"You meant it?"

"Huh?" Desmond looked at him. "Yeah, of course I did. But I've got questions."

Shaun studied him for a bit. "Ask tonight."

Desmond nodded once and pushed the chair away, leaving him to his work. Shaun never saw the smile Desmond sent his way when he saw him eating the soup absentmindedly.

That night, Shaun was snug in the extra blankets on his bed. William and the others had brought along beds with them, and Shaun had never been happier. He felt someone lift the edge of the blankets, and he turned to find Desmond crawling in with him, dressed in just boxers, compared to Shaun's sweatpants and long sleeve sweatshirt. When Desmond had settled down, the historian saw him pick the Bible out of its spot and flip through the pages to the book of Job.

"Shaun," Desmond whispered as he stopped on a page and pointed to a verse. "Can I ask my questions?"

Shaun propped his head on his hand and moved closer to him, leaning to see the verse.

"Why doesn't he just kill himself? Instead of saying, '"I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil."'"

Shaun shook his head. "Sometimes, suicide is not the immediate solution. There are people who prefer to live and struggle."

Desmond frowned. "Then why doesn't he give up on God?"

Shaun turned the page back and pointed to chapter two, verse ten. "'"You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?"'"

Desmond pursed his lips. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why can't we accept just good and not evil?"

"Because we have sinned, and while Jesus has paid the price with his blood, there is still evil in the world that the original sin unleashed."

They were silent for a time longer, and they ended with Desmond resting his head on Shaun's chest, listening to him read the next few chapters. At the end of chapter five, Desmond interrupted him.

"But God caused it."

"Right."

"Why did he say to take his case before God?"

"They don't know that it was God who did such things. They also know that God will care for them, no matter what happens, God will provide."

Desmond twisted his lips. "I don't know…"

Shaun was running a hand through the newer assassin's hair as if he were a child. "Desmond, we cannot always expect to have an easy life. There will be trials and tribulations we cannot know and cannot comprehend. Faith gives us an anchor to cling to, something to keep us weighted down in the middle of a storm."

Desmond was quiet, content against the historian. He sat through chapter six and seven before falling asleep, struggling to stay awake. Shaun smiled down at him, continuing to comb through his short hair. He found himself singing his favorite lullaby his mother used to sing: "Amazing Grace."

He watched Desmond fight valiantly against sleep as he entered verse two. His eyes were hardly a sliver by the end of three, and halfway through four, he was out cold. Shaun sang until he reached the end of the song before he turned out the light and fell asleep, still holding Desmond close.

Shaun began to find that he longed for the nights. He wanted the day to end so he could curl with Desmond in the tiny bed underneath all his blankets that would eventually be pushed off by the annoying oaf. He wanted to wake up with Desmond on top of him, pressed close because it was chilly underground, and the covers had been kicked off. He enjoyed reading to him from the Bible. He taught Desmond hymns and songs of worship in their spare alone time to help keep his spirits uplifted. He enjoyed listening to the man pray every night. He couldn't help but wonder if that was what his mother felt like as she brought him closer to God.

The others began noticing the change and confronted Shaun, who told them off. Desmond began bringing Shaun food and would sit with him while he ate. He would fold his arms and rest his chin in them as he watched the historian eat, occasionally talking or asking a question. His eyes began to get a healthy glow to them. He was focused, alert, and not so jumpy.

They noticed a change in Shaun, too. He was becoming more forgiving. His words had less bite, and he was quieter during the day. They told him that he seemed a bit more spacey and perked up the closer to night they got. He would watch Desmond as if he didn't know he was doing it. They wondered just what was going on every night behind the closed doors of their base.

They were breezing through Job, and, much to Shaun's surprise, Desmond didn't have many questions. His questions had brief answers, usually pertaining to suicide or the like. Shaun enjoyed the other's company at night. Several times, while Desmond was in the Animus, and the others thought he was absorbed in his work, he heard them discuss the possibility that maybe he and Desmond were sleeping together.

Lucy dismissed that idea quickly, he dutifully noted. Rebecca seemed fixated on it—although Shaun suspected it was only for the idea of free porn. He shuddered at the idea. William was just glad they were getting along, but Lucy seemed slightly opposed to the fact.

And then his life went to Hell. Shaun frowned at the soapy dishwater, cursing his existence as he bit back his tears. First, his computer had frozen and a spark caught and now his computer was completely destroyed—thankfully, he had backed up the memories. And since, he couldn't work, the others put him on permanent cleaning duties until further notice. As if to rub that in, the other six went out for the night, leaving him in charge of babysitting Desmond, which in and of itself wasn't the problem, but the idea behind it. He had Rebecca's phone with her terrible heavy metal ringtones, since he had knocked his phone from his desk and didn't notice until Desmond stepped on it, and they heard a sickening crunch.

Then, the crème de la crème, he had checked the London newspaper he subscribed online to, and found, on the front page, Kate, his Kate, his Kitty-Kat, murdered in an armed robbery. He was in tears as he scrubbed absently at the plate, not really seeing what was in front of him. They trickled down his cheeks silently, falling and dropping into the dirty water, but he didn't notice. When a hymn pushed its way to the front of his mind, he didn't pay any attention to it. The words slipped from his mouth as he cleaned.

"I don't get it."

He turned to see Desmond looking at him. He was sitting on his haunches, staring intensely.

"If you're gay, why are you crying like you love her?"

"I did love her." How dare he accuse him of not loving her.

"You're… bisexual?"

"I didn't lust for her, but I did love her. She was perfect."

"I don't get it."

He turned back around, trying not to choke up. He couldn't believe she was gone. "She," he began, pausing to take a deep breath, "she was beautiful. She didn't want a man interested in sex." His voice broke, and he struggled to talk, his voice coming out in ragged breaths. "She—I—Desmond, I miss her. I didn't… get… attend… funeral." His knees gave way, and he was sobbing again for the second time in less than a month. He clutched hopelessly at the counter, crying against the sink.

At some point, he felt Desmond tug him into his arms, and he collapsed in a boneless pile in his arms, sobbing into his chest. As he sobbed, a song pulled at the back of his mind, and through his tears, he found himself singing. It was broken and unable to be understood, but he clung to the song like a lifesaver.

When he woke the next morning, he found himself firmly caught in Desmond's arms, feeling as empty as empty he could get. He felt Desmond stir and hug him tightly.

"You're awake," the newer assassin muttered. "You cried yourself to sleep yesterday. Lucy was pretty mad you didn't get the dishes done until she found out what happened."

He said nothing, pressing his ear to Desmond's chest and listening to the heartbeat.

"I finished Job last night."

He let his hands curl against his chest.

"I hope you get the same ending after everything you've been through."

And he looked into Desmond's eyes, filled with concern and warmth, and he broke down crying again, clinging to him. He didn't look when he heard the door open and close. He didn't respond to the dip in the bed or the voice that was talking to him. All he could do was cling tightly to Desmond and weep into his skin, his mind running through all the things he'd never be able to do with her again.

No more walks in the park to gawk at the men.

No more holding hands and sharing gossip on the way to get ice cream.

No more snuggling together as they watched a movie.

No more going to church, or singing worship songs, or discussing the Bible together.

No more trips to the ice cream parlor, or laughs at the punk rockers, or talks on his mother's front porch while they ate the cookies she would make for them because she loved the dear and was proud her son still had a girlfriend despite his preferences.

He had just lost his best friend, and it ripped him in two.

The next few days weren't there. He woke; he worked; he ate; he slept. He grew thin; he grew pale; he grew weak, and everyone worried. It wasn't until a few weeks later, when he found himself standing under the stars, wondering how Kate was doing in Heaven, he found his answer.

Desmond materialized beside him, or, at least, that's what he thought. In his hands, he clutched the Bible.

"Shaun…"

Shaun looked at him.

"I—I know you hurt right now, but, um… I found this verse I thought you might want to hear."

Shaun looked at him.

Desmond took a deep breath, opened to the page, and began to read. "Isaiah forty-nine, verses thirteen through sixteen: 'Shout for joy, O heavens; rejoice, O earth; burst into song, O mountains! For the Lord comforts his people and will have compassion on his afflicted ones.

But Zion said, "The Lord has forsaken me, the Lord has forgotten me."

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me."'"

Shaun continued to stare at him as he shut the Bible, and Desmond offered a weak smile to him.

"I want you back, Shaun. Don't forget me like the mother does her baby. I can't walk in the dark if there's no light to guide me."

It took a bit to process what Desmond had just said, his thoughts moving at the speed of a sloth, and when they registered, they dawned on him with the brilliance of the world's first sunrise, and his eyes grew wide as he stared at the man. Just as Kate had prepared his faith for trial, so now the torch had been passed to him. He looked at the heavens and stared, wide-eyed, at the stars. He looked back to Desmond.

"Come, and I will make you fishers of men," he whispered.

Desmond looked confused.

"Will you forgive me, Desmond?"

"For what?"

He reached out and took Desmond's hand, holding it against his heart. "For neglecting you. I've been terribly irresponsible in my duties toward you as a disciple of Christ."

He was pulled into a tight hug, a crushing hug, but he felt completely at home there. Desmond was smiling against his hair, laughing. "I don't need to forgive you. I forgave you the instant it happened. I'm just glad you're not turning back into your old self!"

Shaun felt the tiniest hint of a smile tug at his lips, and he maneuvered so he could hug him back. His hug was weak, but he felt safe. Desmond pulled away and offered out the Bible.

"I've been reading this thing to myself for weeks now, and it's incredibly boring."

Shaun took it gingerly and sat down slowly on the grass. Desmond immediately sat against him, eager to have Shaun read to him.

"It all depends on what you read."

"Then I read all the boring shit."

Shaun opened the Bible to the New Testament. "It will take me a bit to recover from this depress—"

"I don't care, just so long as your back. And if you need someone to cry to, I am here. Just… Don't scare us—scare me like that anymore, okay? Sure, Kate's awesome, but Kate's in Heaven, and I'm right here, and I need you."

Shaun placed a hand on his leg as they sat side by side. "I won't leave you for a long time yet."

"Good. You know…"

He looked at the man. Desmond was looking away as if he were embarrassed.

"I've praying for you, the entire time. So that you can have an ending like Job. Maybe even find someone to replace Kate. Not entirely, because no one could do that, but, you know, give you someone to love?"

Shaun studied him as they sat there, not missing the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks, or the way he looked away from Shaun immediately after he looked at him. A small smile tugged at his lips when he felt Desmond's hand move and cover his hand. He twined their fingers together and almost laughed at Desmond's surprised expression as he lay back in the grass. Desmond lay down cautiously and let go of Shaun's hand. He rested his head on Shaun's shoulder, curling up into a tight ball. The historian closed the book and wrapped an arm around Desmond's waist, in which Desmond hesitantly laced their fingers together again. They were silent for a moment.

"It helps."

Shaun gave a low hum.

"With the bleeding effect."

"Lucy said your screaming wasn't as bad anymore."

"I've been praying for the night terrors to go away, and they aren't as bad."

"It's incredible how God works."

Desmond tried to nuzzle closer. "What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Church."

Shaun crinkled his brow. "Church?"

"Yeah. It was in one of the passages I tried to read."

He licked his lips, feeling the warmth of his companion's body. "It was pleasant. Mass, however, is much stricter than some of the protestant churches I've been to."

"Which one did you enjoy most?"

"The Presbyterian one. At first, I was appalled by their casualness, but I've since then grown to treasure it."

Desmond was silent for a few moments. "Do you think I'll get to go with you sometime?"

"Our next scheduled off day is on a Sunday. I can take you to the small church in the next town over, if you like."

"How would you get passed Lucy?"

"With everyone in church Sunday morning, it would be ideal to take you to a different town to let you run around. All the 'damn Templar bastards' will be in church."

They were silent. Shaun looked to the stars, his thoughts drifting back toward Kate and all the memories they had. As he recalled them, he began to wonder what a future he and Desmond would have: if Desmond would get married to Lucy, if he'd continue to grow in Christ, or even if they'd still be friends further down the road.

"I think I'd like that."

"Huh?"

"To go to church on Sunday."

Shaun nodded. "You will have to get up early. No sleeping in. And wear your cleanest clothes. It helps to look your best for God."

Desmond nodded in agreement. They ended up falling asleep in the grass.

* * *

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**.**


	3. Chapter 3

That conversation was what led to Shaun, early Sunday morning several weeks later, putting on his cleaner dress shirt and pants, and tugging on a clean sweater vest. That was what caused him to find himself standing at the doors of a small building with Desmond looking around, taking it all in.

"This is nothing like what Ezio saw."

"Nor will it ever be," Shaun said as he opened the first set of glass doors.

The second set was opened by an old man, who greeted them with a warm smile.

"Morning! Haven't seen you around here before."

Desmond jumped at being addressed, shoving his hands into his pockets and sinking back into his hoodie as if he were trying to hide. Shaun smiled and shook the offered hand.

"Travelers, mate. Just passing through, and decided to show my buddy what he was missing out on every Sunday morning."

The old man laughed. "Well, I'm glad you decided to come to our humble little church! So, it's his first time?"

Shaun nodded, casting a glance as Desmond, who was behind his shoulder, watching the man warily. The man introduced himself, and Shaun gave him a false name easily. They parted and walked farther into the foyer, being greeted and welcomed by everyone. Slowly, as they mingled with the crowd, Desmond came out of his shell, and although it was clear that he didn't trust any of them, he no longer hid in his hood or refused to talk. When the others started filing into the sanctuary, Shaun took him in and found them a seat in the middle. The lady at the door they entered through gave them each a bulletin. He watched as the man looked around with awe at the simple setting. There were people playing the prelude in the far section of the stage, which took up the front third of the room. The sound booth was in the back, and red-cushioned pews were neatly arranged between them. There was an organ with a rose on it opposite of the instruments, and the preacher's podium and a decorated table adorned the middle.

"Is this what all churches are like?" Desmond asked as he turned to look at the back of the sanctuary.

"No, definitely not. Just this one."

"Are all the people so friendly? They weren't in Ezio's time." He looked at the light fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

"Rest assured they aren't. This little church is friendly enough, though."

Shaun heard the couple behind him titter about them.

"Can we come every Sunday?"

"Only when we can. We don't get every Sunday off, and we have to be cautious not to be suspicious."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see a man several years older than him giving him a serious look. Desmond was on the defense, ready to spring if the man tried anything.

"God bless you for having the courage to come. I hope someday you'll be able to worship freely."

Shaun covered the man's hand with his own. "As do I, friend, as do I."

"Is this your first time?"

"His." He gestured to Desmond.

"I'm glad you could manage to bring him at least once. We're proud of this little church."

"I can see why. It's a lovely place." The man's face softened, and he looked at Desmond.

"I'm glad you like it here."

Desmond looked surprised that he was being addressed. "Uh… Yeah."

The man chuckled.

"Are you the preacher?" Desmond asked.

"No, he'll be out after the song of celebration."

"Why are we celebrating?"

"Because we're all here and rejoicing in the Lord."

Desmond blinked. Then, "That's it?"

The man laughed. "Yes, that's it."

"But I don't know the words."

"They'll appear on the projector."He pointed.

"What if I can't sing well?"

"It doesn't matter. The songs are about praising God, not how well you can hit the right notes."

Desmond twisted his lips as the song changed, and Shaun rose. Desmond's head whipped around and looked at him.

"Why are you standing?"

He looked around at everyone else rising and rose reluctantly, stepping closer to the historian. The music picked up, and Shaun starting clapping along to the beat, his eyes closing as the words left his lips, lost and old, but familiar and welcome.

"These are the days of Elijah, declaring the word of the Lord, and these are the days of your servant, Moses, righteousness being restored. And though these are times of great trial: of famine and darkness and sword, still we are the voice in the desert, crying, prepare ye the way of the Lord…"

He glanced briefly at Desmond, who looked slightly unsure of his surroundings. He was so completely out of his nature, Shaun couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. He nudged the assassin and said over the voices of the others, "Lighten up, mate. Sing along."

"But…"

"Relax. This is a place of worship, a place to rejoice. Have a good time."

Shaun turned back to the music, jumping in at the middle of the chorus. As the chorus rolled around a second time, he opened an eye to see Desmond starting to relax as the music continued. Shaun smirked and closed his eyes again, letting the music wash over him. He belted out the chorus, and some of the people around them smiled at his passion, and he couldn't help but feel utterly at home in this little church, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He sang with all his heart and soul, his voice mixing in with the others in the small sanctuary.

"Behold he comes, riding on the cloud, shining like the sun, at the trumpet call, lift your voice, it's the year of jubilee, and out of Zion's hills salvation comes."

The song was over far too quickly, and he inhaled deeply, clapping at the end of the song. He looked to see Desmond staring at him, his jaw dropped and his eyes wide.

"Good morning!"

"Good morning!" came his response along with the rest of the congregation.

A well-dressed man had walked out on the stage, a Bible in hand. He was smiling widely. "A beautiful Sunday, isn't it? We are blessed: I hear we have some visitors today. Why don't we take a moment and greet those around us?"

Shaun looked back at Desmond, who was utterly bewildered. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he was introduced to another stranger. He mingled easily with them and shook hands with the pastor.

"I'm glad to see you could join us today."

"You have no idea, sir."

The pastor laughed. "I take it you don't get to come to church often?"

Shaun sighed. "Not anymore. It's his first time."

The pastor clapped Desmond on the shoulder, and the assassin seemed to be crawling toward defensiveness. "I'm glad you get to meet the Lord here. I hope you enjoy the sermon." To Shaun, "If you don't mind, I'd love to get to know you more after the sermon, if you can afford to hang around."

Shaun nodded. "I'm sure we can."

The pastor grinned, nodded, and walked back to the stage. He relayed the news of the church, the new birth symbolized by the rose on the organ, and another little story before leading into the song of centering, which, Shaun was pleased to see, was "I Want to Know You."

He rose for the song, and Desmond popped to his feet, looking at Shaun as if he didn't know what to do. Shaun stepped closer and clapped his hands with the beat.

"In the secret, in the quiet place, in the stillness, You are there. In the secret, in the quiet hour, I wait, only for You, 'cause I want to know you more…"

He heard a soft voice beside him, singing along quietly to the chorus.

"I want to know you; I want to hear your voice; I want to know you more. I want to touch you; I want to see your face; I want to know you more…"

He felt a small smile spread, and he continued singing, listening to the strands of Desmond's voice, quiet and unsure, singing alongside him. When it ended, the pastor asked them to read along with the prayer of confession. They did so, and Shaun bowed his head and folded his hands. The preacher began praying after a moment of silence, and the historian was surprised to note the preacher called out for them in his prayer:

"…and Lord, help those among us who cannot come together in fellowship as we do every Sunday. Bless them with your strength to keep their faith in you, and guide their steps as they are presented with trials. Help them turn away the evil one, and bless them with your grace…"

When the offering plate was passed around, Shaun pulled out his wallet and took out a small envelope, placing it inside as it was passed. Desmond looked confused, and Shaun placed a hand over his.

"The Lord commands that we give ten percent of all we own back to him. The church puts it to use in maintenance and other various things."

"Oh…" Desmond almost looked upset.

"Don't worry, Desmond. You didn't know: I failed to tell you."

They sat back down for the sermon, and Shaun half listened, focused more on Desmond the entire time. The assassin was sitting pressed against him and was listening with rapt attention. He had a serious look on his face, and the historian found himself rubbing the top of Desmond's upper leg with his thumb. He seemed to relax a little more at the touch, his face softening and his body language becoming at ease, and Shaun felt more relaxed as he became more relaxed.

The end of the sermon came about much too quickly, and before he knew it, Shaun was singing the closing songs with Desmond beside him, much more confident and sure of himself. They hugged and bid farewell to many of the churchgoers. After many of the congregation left, the preacher came to them.

"I hope you enjoyed it today."

Desmond nodded. "Yeah, I'm glad I got to come."

The man smiled at him. "I noticed you relaxed as we progressed."

Desmond shrugged, and Shaun stepped in. "Relaxing is a luxury we don't get much."

"I take it you lead hard lives?" Shaun nodded, but said nothing more. The pastor noticed the secretive nature and smiled warmly. "I hope they will get easier for you."

Shaun offered a soft smile. "So do we. It would be nice to help him grow without having to worry about being caught."

The man placed a hand on Shaun's shoulder. "I am excited you are willing to take that risk, however, to bring another closer to Christ."

Shaun sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Yes, well, I fear every waking second that someone will find us out. Him, I'm not concerned about: he's far too important to the men we work for."

The preacher nodded, looking solemn. "The church will pray for your safety. To lose a brother because of what he believes is terrible. We will keep you in our prayers."

"Thank you, sir."

"If I could have your name?"

Shaun hesitated for a moment. Finally, he said, "Shaun Hastings. This man is Desmond Miles."

Desmond looked alarmed when his name was spoken, but the preacher just nodded. "Right. Rest assured your appearance here will remain a secret. Shaun, Desmond, we will pray for your safety and guidance."

"Thank you, sir."

"Although, I must ask why you didn't go to the basilica in the next town over if you wished to remain unseen."

"Precisely for the reason of remaining unseen," Shaun said. "I figured in a town like this, such a small church would be less likely to have many different visitors who might endanger us."

The pastor nodded once, slowly. "Well then, I will let you go. God bless, and know that we are praying for you."

Shaun nodded and looked at Desmond. "Ready, Desmond?"

The assassin nodded, stepping close to Shaun as he thanked the preacher and stepped out of the building. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, telling him our names?"

Shaun sighed and looked at him as they got in the car. "Desmond, we can trust him."

"How do you know? He could be a Templar!"

He shook his head. "Just trust me, Desmond. I can't explain it, but I felt as if he could be trusted."

"Oh, right, go around trusting people just because you think they can be? Smart move, real smart move. We're not gonna get caught at all like th—"

"Shut up!" Shaun snapped, fixing him with his fiercest glare. Desmond seemed to be frozen in his seat. "Unlike you, I've been raised in a church setting! I know the power of prayer, and I need the prayer behind me! I've put my neck on the line just lying to Lucy to take you here! Every time I enter my room, I check to see if my covers have been disturbed, worried that someone might have found the Bible I keep hidden so that I can read to you every night!"

His voice took on a desperate tone. "Desmond, I know you don't understand, but I need to know that I have a community praying for me. I need to know that I have others out there who are aware of my plight and are praying for my safety. While I'm glad you are praying for me, there is strength in numbers."

Desmond was looking at his lap.

"And you don't have to worry about such things, because you are absolutely critical to the assassin cause. I am not. I am replaceable." He sighed in frustration as he drove back toward the hideout. As they pulled in, Desmond stopped him from getting out by grabbing his sleeve. He growled, "I won't let them replace you, Shaun. I won't let them lay a single finger on you."

He was met by a fierce, protective look that reminded him distinctly of Altair.

As they walked in, Lucy was waiting for them. "Have a good time?"

Desmond smiled. "Yeah, I did. I wish I could go out more during the day."

"Well, Shaun did have a good point. With all the Templars at home because of their beliefs, you should be okay."

"Can we start taking every Sunday off?"

Lucy looked startled. "No, Desmond, I'm afraid not."

"Why not?"

Shaun rolled his eyes and left to enter the kitchen, where Rebecca was sprawled out across the table, half a chocolate bar in her hand, threatening to drop to the floor as it dangled off the edge. She was fast asleep, and Shaun had to do a double take before dismissing it as just another Rebeccen thing to do. He set about making himself some tea and a light lunch. As he brought out the plate, settling in his chair, Desmond came over, plopping into William's with a huff.

He rubbed his eyes, staring at the ceiling, confused, before he rubbed them again and shrugged.

Shaun raised an eyebrow.

"I thought I saw a Templar clinging to the ceiling. I was wrong. Just another bleed through."

He nodded once, offering some of the food to Desmond, who accepted it gratefully.

"Today was fun. Thanks for taking me out."

He nodded again. "It was nice."

Lucy came in with William, each holding several packages. "Shaun, your new cell phone and laptop arrived."

Shaun looked confused.

"The Order said that they were sending a new one for you."

He straightened up as they set the packages down. "I don't recall that."

"It was while you hit the peak of your depression," Desmond said, spinning in the chair as Shaun knelt by the packages.

"Would you stop adjusting the seat?" William growled.

Desmond grinned and spun the chair the other way, getting an irritated hiss. Shaun had all ready preoccupied himself with opening the boxes.

"Thank you, Lucy. I'll be set up by tomorrow."

Lucy nodded. "Good. Things'll go a lot faster with you back in action."

Shaun was all ready too engrossed in setting up to realize he was being talked to. He worked late into the night, nearly jumping out of his skin when he noticed Desmond sitting a ways off, staring at him. He clutched his chest, breathing deeply.

"Bloody Hell, Desmond."

"I don't understand," he said, his feet pressed together as his fingers grasped his ankles.

"Don't understand what—that you nearly gave me cardiac arrest?" he snapped.

Desmond smirked, then shook his head. "The power of prayer. I don't get it."

Shaun blinked, the dropped his hand and sat back. "You don't… Oh." Desmond was looking at him expectantly, and Shaun rubbed his face with his hand, ending by scratching his chin. "Right. Prayer power." He glanced at the computer and rose, his back popping and his joints cracking from working so long without a break. He groaned as he stretched. "Right. I'll finish tomorrow."

Desmond looked excited and climbed to his feet, keeping one-step ahead of him as he walked toward their room. He paused near the food, his stomach growling.

"Head on in and pull the Bible out. I'll be back in a minute."

He pulled out some crackers and cheese before walking into their room. Desmond was all ready in bed, the covers pulled up around him, and the Bible had been pulled from its hiding spot. He changed quietly into his sleeping clothes, uttering, "Please turn to Acts, chapter twelve."

He heard him flip through the pages.

"There." He walked over and climbed in beside him.

"Now, a little bit of background before I read this to you."

Desmond nodded, curling up beside him. Shaun almost smiled at how much he reminded him of himself as a child before he realized he probably didn't get anything like this on the Farm.

"Acts follows the twelve disciples of Jesus Christ after he died and went to Heaven."

Desmond hummed in agreement.

"They were charged with going across the nations and spreading his word, and they preformed miracles and had miracles preformed through them and for them. Acts twelve is about one of the disciples, Peter, after he was thrown in jail for preaching in a Jewish territory. The Jews believe that Christ has not come once yet, and so, hearing Peter preach that he had all ready come once was the equivalent of blasphemy."

Desmond stretched out as Shaun began reading to him, telling him the story of Peter's imprisonment. He read to him about how Peter was chained up and guarded, and how the church was praying for his safety and peace. He read that the angel appeared to him and told him to rise, and when he did, the shackles fell from him. Desmond seemed captured by the fact the soldiers beside him didn't notice, or the sentries at the entrance of the cell didn't seem to see him walking passed them. He was astonished at the story of how King Herod had died after failing to praise God, and how Peter escaped without a scratch.

When Shaun finished, Desmond scoffed. "How could that have happened? That's impossible!"

Shaun chuckled. "No, not with the power of God."

"But—Peter—and Herold!"

He ran a hand though Desmond's hair and kissed his head gently. "Herod, Desmond. Not Herold. Now do you see why it so hard for many to believe? But that is the power that God has, and he will use it to protect those who believe in him."

Desmond frowned. "I don't believe it."

Shaun shook his head. "There is documentation of King Herod dying on that day."

Desmond pursed his lips.

"Most of this can be linked back to real documentation in history."

He felt Desmond's fingers curl into his sleeping shirt. "Really?"

"Yes, and I can show you once I get everything up and running."

Desmond was quiet, and Shaun waited for a response.

"Then… Yeah. I wanna see. I mean, that story was pretty cool. Can we read more?"

Shaun laughed. "Of course. And once we're done, I'll start giving you the more classic stories."

"Like what?"

"Noah's Ark, the story of Creation, the birth of Jesus, his death and resurrection and ascension…"

"Okay."

Shaun settled back in and continued to read. Around chapter sixteen, Desmond nodded off. The historian couldn't help but have a small smile on his lips as he watched him sleep for a while. Perhaps that was reason he loved history so much: it was all an integral part of his childhood.

The next few days passed quickly, and Shaun read to Desmond the story of Creation, Cain and Abel, Noah, Moses and his life, David and Goliath, Elijah and the contest at the altars, Daniel and the lions' den, Jonah and the big fish, and then into the life and death of Jesus. He realized just how little he knew about the Bible and his own faith as Desmond pressed and pulled with questions he struggled to answer.

"So, just 'boom, bam, baby!' and the world was here?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Because God willed it so."

"I don't see how just everything could have just 'appeared.'"

"Then what do you believe?"

"The Big Bang."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Then tell me where all the matter came from to create the universes from the 'big bang.'"

Desmond couldn't answer.

"See?" Shaun began. "The beginning of the universe is a giant mystery. And your theory makes no more sense than mine if you look at it like that."

Desmond had begrudgingly accepted that explanation, vowing to look into the Big Bang more.

"Why did God like Abel's gift more than Cain's?"

"Because Abel gave him the best of his flocks, and Cain just gave him whatever he felt like."

Desmond hadn't liked that, but he understood the message. No one liked being second best.

"So God just killed everyone except Noah and his family?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because they were wicked."

"Why doesn't he just do that now?"

"Because he promised to never to that again with the rainbow."

"Then why doesn't he just strike down Abstergo right now?"

Shaun had been stuck. "Because… he gave up such control when Jesus died on the cross."

"But this world is way more wicked now—"

"Because of the technology we have. Now, we have a way to be saved without sacrifices, and those who truly believe will still make it to Heaven."

"So? He could clean up this world right now. Why doesn't he?"

Shaun didn't have an answer to that, but he vowed to find a good one.

"Seriously? So, Moses really did all those miracles? Without the Staff?"

Shaun chuckled. "Yes, Desmond. No amount of technology could do what God did for Moses in his life."

"I wish I was put in a basket and adopted by a king."

"Pharaoh, but yes, it would make life so much easier, wouldn't it?"

They both decided Moses never should have left the easy life.

Shaun actually ripped the Vegetales version of David and Goliath for Desmond to watch. And the best part was Desmond enjoyed every second.

"I like the story of Elijah."

"I'm glad you do."

He could see Desmond's faith strengthening little by little.

"And not a single one hurt him?"

"No, not a hair on his head was touched."

Desmond shifted across Shaun to look him in the eyes. He looked serious, and Shaun raised an eyebrow.

"I'll make sure that no one touches a hair on your head."

There were no words to tell Desmond the happiness Shaun felt.

"Even if I have to fight God himself."

Shaun chuckled and ran a hand along his cheek. "I should hope you don't have to, but thank you."

He felt safe when they went to bed that night.

"There's no fish that big."

"A whale, perhaps?"

"No way. That's just gross!"

Shaun laughed at the look of disbelief. "Imagine how he must have smelled—"

"No! Shaun! Stop! That's disgusting!"

Desmond made a vomiting noise, pretending to gag as Shaun laughed at him. At least he found out Desmond didn't like fish—so he made a note to order it for his birthday.

"Well that makes sense about the Shroud!"

Shaun raised an eyebrow.

"I wondered how Jesus would've gotten out of the grave if that massive stone had been placed in front of it and guards there!"

"What do you mean?"

"Of course a miracle happened. It must have been God's power, right?"

Shaun smiled at the declaration of faith. "Of course."

Several weeks later, after bright in the morning as they all gathered for the Animus, Rebecca came running in, laughing. She grabbed Shaun's phone—his new one, with video capabilities—and set it up to record. Shaun watched her as she gestured wildly at the doorway, and he looked in time to see Desmond come running out in his boxers. They were pastel blue with little pink bunnies hopping all over them, and he was wiggling his butt proudly in them as he danced. It took Shaun a bit to realize he was dancing to a worship song he was singing.

"It's all God's children singing, 'Glory, glory, hallelujah, he reigns! He reigns!' It's all God's children singing, 'Glory, glory, hallelujah, he reigns! He reigns!'"

Shaun was biting his lip to hold back his laughter as Desmond danced in his socks and underwear, shaking and jiving as he sang loudly into Rebecca's hairbrush. William and Lucy looked flabbergasted, and Rebecca and Erudito were howling with laughter. He swallowed thickly, trying to hold back his laughter at the scene before them, and as the song wrapped up, Desmond strutted off, vaguely reminding Shaun of a scene from the movie with a lion and warthog and meerkat as his hips bounced with each step.

Desmond came back out a few minutes later, still hopping and bopping as he whistled to the tune in his head. He had his hoodie and jeans on, doing an impressive flash of footwork that was completely nullified by the image of him in his boxers. Rebecca and Erudito were still rolling with laughter, and William and Lucy looked less than pleased.

"Desmond," William began, "where did you hear that song?"

"Huh?" Desmond said as he "bee-bopped" his way over to them. "Online, while I was surfing the web on Shaun's computer."

"You realize that's a Templar song," Lucy said calmly.

They both looked surprised when Desmond shrugged. "Eh, whatever. It's just a song. And it was catchy, so it got stuck in my head."

He plopped onto the Animus. "Plug me in, baby!"

Shaun could only shake his head at Desmond's ridiculousness as he turned to his work. At least he had a new image to entertain him when he was stressed—and it was recorded on his phone.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days later, William came strolling in, hands in his pockets when he announced, "Due to an increase in Templar activity, the four of the Heads are coming to stay with us."

Everyone looked up, shocked.

"Two will be staying with Shaun and Desmond—"

"Why?" Desmond shouted, frowning.

"Because we know you don't use the second bed, and you've proven to us that you can fit two men into one of them."

"But that's ridiculous!" Desmond shouted. "Shaun and I won't ever get to be alone with each other!"

Immediately, his face turned a brilliant shade of red, and Shaun rested his head in his hand. Rebecca was grinning like the pervert she was, holding her hand out to Lucy, who begrudgingly slapped several bills into her hand.

"Told you so." She laughed.

Lucy huffed and crossed her arms, and William gave them a disapproving look. "The other will be staying with me. And the last with Erudito."

Desmond sent a panicked look at Shaun, who shook his head. "We'll discuss this later. William, don't think you've gotten off the hook yet," he said, sending a glare to their co-leader.

William shrugged and sat down as Desmond was plugged in. It took several attempts to get him to sync, and Shaun had a distinct feeling there was something else unspoken that was going on. That night, after a futile attempt at reasoning with William—"You can keep your dick in your pants long enough to live with the Heads."—Desmond was curled around him, clinging to him.

"What are we gonna do now?" he whispered.

Shaun was stroking his hair. "We'll be okay. We'll start going outside at night."

"And what if they don't let us?"

"Then we'll stay up late and claim to be working."

"What if they stay up with us?"

Shaun was disconcerted by Desmond's questions. That, in combination with the feeling from earlier, left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Then we'll hold off until we're alone again."

Desmond clung tighter to him. "But…"

"I know, Desmond. And I enjoy reading to you just as much as you enjoy being read to, but safety first."

The assassin nodded, but said nothing. They lay in silence for a while, Shaun's arms wrapped around him and him clinging tightly.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Desmond whispered.

Shaun rubbed his back slowly. There was no need to worry him more by agreeing. "I believe it. The only thing we can do is pray that everything comes out okay."

"At least we can go to the church Sunday, again, right? It's your turn to watch me on our day off."

Shaun nodded, hugging him tightly. "Yes, Desmond, we can."

Desmond said his prayers clinging to Shaun that night, and he fell asleep in the middle of a selection of Psalms. When the Heads of the Order arrived several days later, they were every bit as imposing as Shaun imagined them. They were silent in all they did, and their hooded robes left no bit of skin exposed. Shaun's skin crawled whenever one would come near, and he constantly felt as if he were being watched.

Desmond didn't fare well either. Wherever he went, one of them seemed to pop up, and so, they were forced to put off reading the Bible until further notice. They couldn't go to the church for fear of being caught. When the historian curled up with him at night, he could feel Desmond trembling against him. It wasn't until two weeks after their arrival things took a turn for the worse.

Desmond had desynced with a scream at a memory that really wasn't that bad, and Shaun was left holding him and whispering to him as he cried and clung and trembled in his arms. When he finally let go, Shaun left to go get him something to drink, and not more than a few minutes into letting the kettle boil, Rebecca came pounding in.

"Dude, you've got to see this."

She left, and, concerned, Shaun followed her out to be met with Desmond on his knees at the window, his lips moving rapidly and his hands pressed together. His head was bowed, and his eyes were shut, and Shaun felt his skin go cold: Desmond was praying—right in front of the Heads of the Order. William and the others looked slightly confused. Lucy and Rebecca, concerned more than anything. When Lucy touched his shoulder, Desmond cringed away from it, his fingers curling together tighter and his lips moving more rapidly. She looked perplexed at his reaction, and Shaun's heart was beating at a million miles an hour. One of the Heads moved forward, quietly, just like always, and knelt down beside him.

"Desmond, stop this foolishness."

Desmond cried out and fell on his rump, his hands still folded as he buried his face between his knees.

"Stop praying. There is no God to hear you."

He didn't deter him from his prayer. Shaun stepped forward stiffly and knelt beside him as the Head got up. He placed a hand on Desmond's shoulder.

"Desmond," he said softly, "Desmond, you need to stop."

He stayed like that, one hand on the man, until he stopped praying several minutes later, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"Who taught you to pray?" One of the Heads asked.

Desmond didn't respond.

"Desmond! Answer us!"

He still gave them no response, even when the Head stepped forward and grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt. His instincts kicked in, and he lashed out to attack, but two others had all ready grabbed and restrained him. William was holding Lucy back, and Rebecca and Erudito were stunned. Shaun watched in horror as they tried to pry the information out of him.

"Who taught you?"

"How do you know I didn't just teach myself?" He spit, barking laughter when he saw the Head wipe its face.

"Because we know you weren't doing any kind of Templar activity before you joined us. We've made sure there would be no way for you to know unless one of your teammates was a spy, converting you to their beliefs so that you won't fight when they attack."

"Bullshit!" Desmond screeched, even though he was struck across the face. "Not all Christians are Templars!"

Shaun's mind was racing faster than a bullet as he thought about what to do. He knew they'd continue with Desmond until he spilled Shaun's name, and he knew that Desmond would never spill it. The only option after that would be to force Desmond into a coma to cooperate and get the memories from him. Worse yet, they would relive Desmond's memories to get their answer. Shaun didn't want that to happen, but the only way to stop it was to reveal himself. He was trembling. He glanced up at the ceiling, trying to calm his nerves. He said a quick prayer to God before he licked his lips.

"It was me."

Silence fell like a hammer over the group, and Desmond had his teeth sunk into the hand on the Head as the others tried to pry his jaw open. He saw four black holes where faces should be turn toward him, and he made the sign of the cross, his old Catholic habits kicking in.

"I taught him. If you need proof, there's a Bible hidden under the bricks below my extra set of shoes."

"Shaun!" Desmond spat. "Don't be ridiculous and—hey! No, you fucker, get back here!"

One of the heads had vanished from the room, returning moments later with the Bible from the priest. Shaun was standing there, visibly shaking as the Head flipped through it and noted the marked passages. The Head dropped the Bible onto the floor as the four one restrained Shaun. He didn't try to fight back. There was no way he could hope to win against one of them. The two holding back Desmond were struggling to keep him controlled, and the man was a snarling, biting, kicking, howling mess. Shaun looked at the Bible on the ground, realizing the bad feeling had been a message to get the fuck out. He saw the Head move in front of him, and he refused to look. A hand, covered in a white glove, forced him to look into the black hole, and he trembled.

"Let him go, you sick mother-fucking bastards!" Desmond screamed.

At a gesture, Shaun found himself bound tightly and sitting in the back of the vehicle the Heads of the Order had arrived in. Desmond was across from him, bound in chains and writhing on the floor as he struggled to get out. Shaun nudged him with his feet, giving him a sad look as the assassin fell quiet.

"Desmond, stop struggling."

"Why? So they can kill you?"

He sighed. "No, so they don't put you in a coma to get your memories."

Desmond stopped moving.

"Be compliant with them."

"No."

"For you own life."

"No. I want you."

"Desmond, if you force them to put you under, then all of my work, all of the stories we read, all the prayers we said, the church visit—all of it would have been for nothing."

"How can I just-just go along with them knowing you're going to die because of what you believe?"

Shaun offered a shaky smile. "By knowing that God will protect us."

"He's not going to protect you—"

"Faith, Desmond. That's what I've been trying to give you. And if it's my time to return to him, then at least I will have a better life than this one."

Desmond blinked, then blinked again.

"And while I don't regret a single moment of teaching you, Desmond, know that everything happens for a reason. If I get called back to Heaven, it was so my light could be passed to you, so that you could be the light for someone else. You must remember that I've been putting up quite a fight against depression as I worked here. This may be the relief I've been praying for."

"But I don't want you to die," Desmond whispered.

"But I'll see you again. And I'll be with my earthly father and my Heavenly father. And together we can sing worship songs in our underwear and socks, and we relax without fear. You'll get to meet Kate when we meet again."

Desmond was silent, and remained silent for the rest of the ride. When they got there, the Heads of the Order seemed surprised at Desmond's complacency, and Shaun found himself sitting in a dark cell. He easily lost how long he was in there, lost in his thoughts and his own self-pity until he recalled a passage from the Bible his mother had read to him long ago.

It was of Paul and Silas in prison, and how they had sung hymns and rejoiced in the Lord even though they were faced with death. They had been beaten and shackled. At least he didn't go through that. An earthquake that had destroyed the prison had freed them, and they stayed to save the life of prison guard. The next day, they had been released. They had been in good moods in prison, and Shaun realized it would do him no good to let himself wallow in misery and self-pity. With resolve, he spent the next long amount of time praying, his hands together and whispering the words aloud. He prayed for strength to make the most of his time in the cell, and for misery to stay away. He prayed for Desmond's safety and his, and he felt himself grow lighter the longer he talked.

It attracted the attention of the prisoners across from him—there were only four in the six dirty cells. Shaun continued praying, his words getting stronger the longer he talked, and eventually, he ended with an "Amen" and saw Desmond outside his cell.

"Are you doing okay?"

Shaun smiled with relief. "I'm doing fine."

"I listened to you pray. You've been praying for two hours."

"Well, it's not like I've much else to do in here."

"Why do you still have faith?"

"I haven't died yet, have I?"

Desmond frowned and sat, his legs poking through the bars of his cell. "I guess not."

"And there's no point in being depressed about it. I'm no longer paranoid about being caught, and I know you're alive and well."

Desmond looked caught off-guard from the statement.

"Do you want to hear a Bible story?"

The assassin nodded slowly. Shaun told him the story of Paul and Silas, and Desmond seemed to relax slightly as he heard the story.

"And that really happened?"

"Yes, Desmond, that really happened."

"You know, you never answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why God doesn't just clean the world up right now."

Shaun nodded slowly, pursing his lips. He was silent for a moment. Then, "It was because when Adam and Eve bit from the apple, they handed the world over to Satan."

"Why doesn't God just take it back if he's so powerful?"

"Because he knew it would only happen again and again, so he left it to the devil and knew that those who truly wanted to join him in Heaven would follow his word and obey his laws."

Desmond was silent, looking at his lap. Shaun rose and walked over, crouching near the bars and placing a hand on Desmond's leg.

"Have faith, Desmond."

"I told the church you had been captured. They're spreading the news."

Shaun was floored. "R-really?"

Desmond nodded, covering Shaun's hand with his own. "You said there was power in prayer numbers, so I told them to spread the word."

"How did you get their address?"

"I had the bulletin from that Sunday in my hoodie pocket."

Shaun was silent, unable to believe that Desmond had actually done that.

"But if this doesn't work, I don't think that I'm believing in God ever again."

Slowly, as if through a fog, Shaun reached up and cupped Desmond's cheek with his free hand. He brought his head as close as he could and kissed his forehead gently.

"You've been in here for two weeks now," Desmond murmured, sounding crushed.

Shaun brushed his thumb over Desmond's cheek, smiling gently.

"And in all that time, I finally discovered how much of a blessing you are."

Desmond looked at him.

"I've been reflecting on everything, Desmond. I'm going to walk out of here for the stronger because of this."

"How?"

"Why don't you sing a worship song with me? I need something to lift my spirits so I don't give up and die of self-pity."

Desmond looked thoroughly confused. "Uh… okay?"

"I have a new one to teach you. It's called 'Lord, I Lift Your Name on High.' And, it has motions."

He nodded once, slowly, and smiled when Shaun did. They spent the next several hours learning the song and the simple hand movements to the chorus. The historian was pleased to note that even the other three prisoners were joining in. Desmond seemed to cheer up as they sang, and it lifted Shaun out of the dumps. He knew that he had done the right thing revealing himself.

That song led into "Here I am to Worship," then "Blessed be Your Name," then Desmond was discovered and dragged out, but at least the boy was smiling, and Shaun was feeling better about himself and his situation. The other prisoners were having fun, and so he continued singing and teaching those songs, and the three novices in charge tried to get them to shut up, but they wouldn't. So the Heads came down, fuming at all the racket coming from the prison, and they threatened, but Shaun wouldn't quiet. None of them would.

He began preaching to the prisoners, which, he was surprised to find, even though they were Templars, weren't Christian and had never been introduced to the word of God. Shaun found himself smiling despite his situation, noticing how the novices at the entrance leaned in when he told the prisoners a Bible story or nodded in time with songs as they sang.

He lost track of time as he got to know the prisoners: two more were carted in, and one left. When they found out he had been executed, he led the others in a prayer for him. It took a while, but two newcomers eventually joined in. The novices began to trust Shaun for his good behavior, letting him out to comfort another prisoner when one of them would get upset or incredibly nervous. They would come in and listen to him speak, and he decided he was thankful for his accent—it seemed to help. They snuck him music to teach the others and even, once or twice, a sweet from the kitchens.

They were in the middle of "Your Grace is Enough" when a large assassin came and stopped in front of him with a blindfold and bindings. Shaun took a deep breath and complied with the man, giving him a warm smile. As he was blindfolded, he heard one of the prisoners protest, and he let a small chuckle slip.

"Don't worry about me."

"But, the executioner!"

"Then pray for me, would you? Pray for my protection, and the salvation of the man who will end my life."

The executioner scoffed as he was led from the cell. "There isn't a God to help you now. I'm going to kill you, and that's that."

Shaun found himself remarkably confident that things would be okay. His smile disappeared the longer they walked, and with the blindfold, he became incredibly disoriented. He was glad when he was shoved on his knees and his head was roughly yanked back by his hair. He grunted.

"Not feeling so confident now, hm?"

Shaun sneered. "More confident than you'd ever know, you lousy tit."

He laughed once, bitterly, when the man backhanded him.

"Shaun?"

The voice was Desmond's, and Shaun smiled warmly at it.

"They're really going to kill you, you know."

"I'm surprised you're not fighting them."

"You told me not to, remember?"

"I didn't think you'd actually listen."

There was silence, then, "I don't want you to leave yet. We still have a lot in the Bible to finish."

"I know, Desmond, but I'm not dead yet. How many people are here?"

"Everyone in the base. The ten leaders, our team, a score or so of assassins… I don't want you to die. I've been praying hard for the past few months—"

"It's really been that long?"

"Yeah, and we finally got rid of Abstergo. We even managed to stop the solar flare thing Minerva talked about."

"Congratulations, Desmond. I had faith you could do it."

He could hear the sad happiness in his voice: "Thanks."

"Everything will be okay, Desmond."

"You stare death in the face, and you claim everything is all right?"

The voice came from in front of him, and he assumed it was one of the Heads of the Order.

"Only a fool would look a gift horse in the mouth," he snapped, egged on by the adrenaline in his veins. "I have struggled with depression and thoughts of suicide since I was kidnapped by Abstergo, amplified by Kate's death. Desmond has been my anchor, but if the Good Father is calling me back, I will go eagerly to him, for death provides relief. I have done all I can to give Desmond a strong faith. I can only hope that he will hold the torch to light another's path."

"You speak foolishness."

"No, I clearly think that I've been doing everything just said. Do you need me to repeat that for you?"

"There will be no honor in your death."

"I seek nothing from death except eternal slumber and my promised reward. You assassins are idiots to think everyone wants to die with 'honor' and 'courage.'"

"You are the idiot."

"Will you kill me? Or keep talking, instead? I thought this was an execution, not a family get-together."

The Head snarled. "You will never be a part of the family of assassins."

"Thankfully!" Shaun shouted, laughing derisively.

"Any last words, Templar?"

He felt the press of a gun nuzzle against the back of his head and smirked, despite the blood rushing through his veins and pounding in his ears. "Lord, don't hold this against them. They are fools, and they have not seen your power. Bless Desmond and make his path bright. I have seen your power and been blessed by you. Thank you, Lord. In your name I pray, amen."

"There is no God, you idiot!"

He heard a click, and then silence.

"The Hell? I just checked this gun."

Another click. And another. And another.

"Gimme a new gun!"

Shaun could hear the audience tittering quietly, mystified. His breathing was shaky, and his nerves on end. He shuddered.

"Here, this one works."

He felt another muzzle, and his heart skipped a beat. He was trembling—perhaps a miracle was happening.

"Bullshit," the executioner growled, and he heard another empty click. Then a series of empty clicks. He almost had a heart attack when he heard a gunshot ring out loudly in the room, and his breathing was coming in fast pants. In his mind, there were prayers running through at a million miles an hour, each one accompanied by another memory he had. He jumped again when he heard the executioner yell and the gun smash into the far wall. "Get me a blade! I'll kill the damn Templar spy the old-fashioned way!"

He held his head high, despite his nerves, waiting to feel the cool metal slice through his skin. The murmurs behind him were louder as the assassins began commenting on the freaky coincidence. He waited anxiously, his mind racing through a million prayers and words, all fragments of another day, another year. When he heard a cough behind him, he knew something was wrong. He heard the metal of the blade—a sword, he presumed—clatter against the ground, he turned to look behind him despite the blind fold. Commotion overtook the audience as the assassins panicked.

"He's had a heart attack!"

"The prisoner is cursed!"

"Quickly! Get the executioner out of here!"

"He's dead! Shit! Maurice is dead!"

Shaun's heart was pounding wildly as he listened to the commotion. Finally, silence fell over the room again as he heard the executioner be carted off. Murmurs were running rampant through the crowd as Shaun looked around, even though he couldn't see.

"Get him back to his cell."

Still, he felt no one touch him.

"You have your orders! Get him back in his cell!"

He felt a trembling hand undo the blindfold, and he blinked when it came off. Desmond was crouching in front of him, smiling. He smiled in return, letting out a nervous laugh. Without a warning, Desmond pulled him into a crushing hug, scooping him up and spinning around. Shaun laughed.

"He did! He really watched over you!"

"Utter farce," one of the Heads growled. "A string of unlucky circumstances. Our executioner was sixty-two, anyway."

Shaun was pleased to hear the nervousness in its voice as he pressed his face against Desmond's neck.

"Glory be to God Almighty," he whispered.

Desmond ended up carrying him back down to his cell, where all the prisoners were surprised to see him.

"No way!"

"You're back!"

"Incredible!"

"Awesome!"

He was smiling as he felt the binds come off. Desmond grinned at him from the other side of the bars. Shaun led them in a powerful and joyful set of songs, and they celebrated for quite a while. Even when Desmond was dragged out, he was smiling and laughing, and Shaun had never felt higher on life then right then. He didn't know how long it was before he saw Desmond appear at the bars, grinning like a fool.

"Guess what?"

He walked over from his spot on the far wall, half-asleep. "Huh?"

"We're going home."

He rubbed his face in hopes of waking completely.

"What?"

"We're going home. You're being placed under house arrest back at home in London, where they have all sorts of assassins there to watch you."

Shaun shook his head, still sleepy. "Home?"

"To your mom and brother! You're going home!"

He blinked, then blinked again. Then, it registered, and his eyes grew wide. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am!"

"You're not joshing with me?"

"Why the Hell would I do that?"

Shaun was stunned. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face, and he fell to his knees, gripping the iron bars tightly.

"Thank God in the highest. Seventeen years, Desmond. It's been seventeen years, and I'm finally going home." He pressed his lips to his knuckle.

"Thank the Lord Almighty. I'm going home—I'm going home!"

One of the assassin novices came over and unlocked the door. There were immediately two more assassins, one on either side of him, and Desmond squeezed in between them, grabbing his hand. He was crying tears of joy as he thought about his family back in London. Seventeen years without being able to communicate with them, and he finally would get to see them.

His heart was pounding as he held his plane ticket, crumpled between his and Desmond's locked fingers. His blood was pulsing as he waited outside the gate with his two assassin escorts. He pulled out the phone he had before his arrest and dialed his home phone, biting his lip the longer it rang.

He was about ready to give up when it hit the seventh ring.

"Hello?" he heard an old, tired voice say. "Hastings' residence. This is Marjan speaking."

"H-hello," he felt Desmond squeeze his hand tightly, "Mum?"

"Danny? Is that you?"

"No, mum, it's me. It's—" his voice cracked. "It's Shaun."

There was silence. "Shaun?"

He could feel his heart breaking. Surely his mother hadn't forgotten.

"My Shaun died a long—"

"No, mum, it's me. I swear. I'm alive. I'm free now."

There was silence, and Shaun almost felt like crying.

"You-You're alive? Is that really you, Shaun?"

"Yes, mum, it's really me."

There was more silence.

"Mum?"

"My God, Shaun, it's really you, isn't it?"

"Yes, mum, it is."

There was a shaky breath on the other end. Then, "I—My Lord, you're coming home. Shaun, after all these years—oh, Shaun, I've been praying for your safe return every day! I've never stopped, and finally—finally!—Oh! The Good Lord's heard my prayers! I'll have to tell the father! And the neighbors! And the community! Oh, Shaun, my baby boy. I can't believe you're finally coming home! Finally! Oh, my baby! Where are you? What happened? Are you okay? Who kidnapped you? Are you healthy?"

Shaun laughed, ignoring the stares he was getting as he cried tears of joy. "I'll tell you when I get there. I'm at an international airport in Italy. I should be boarding right now."

"My God! Thank the Heavens, mercy alive! Call me as soon as you land! Oh, my baby, you're coming home!"

"I love you, mum."

"I love you, too! To think you're coming home! I'll have the whole of London know you're found by the time you land!"

"And mum, I'm bringing a friend."

"Goodness Lordie alive! I'll have a meal prepared by the time you get home! Oh, you're coming home! My baby!"

Shaun smiled. "I'll see you soon, mum."

"Of course, baby. Of course. I love you."

"I love you, too."

She hung up, and Shaun flashed their tickets to the woman at the boarding area. Desmond wrapped him in a tight hug as they laughed their way to the plane. After they were seated, Desmond leaned over and kissed him full on the lips.

Things were finally looking up.

* * *

><p><strong>Why is the Pit being such an ass? D: Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. This has been quite the prompt for me. page 11 in part 2.<strong>


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